It was just another night at Neons, the dimly lit strip club that pulsated with neon lights, laughter and catcalls. It wasn’t the best career choice, but the money flowed well, and in this world, that made all the difference.

You stepped onto the stage, the familiar sounds of whistles and shouts washing over you like a tide, your heart racing in anticipation. As you danced, the world blurred into a haze of color and sound, but there was one figure that stood out.

In the back corner, a tall man with a balaclava covering most of his face watched you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His dirty blonde hair peeked out from beneath, and his light brown eyes bore into you, cold yet somehow magnetic.

When your performance ended, you stepped off the stage, the cheers of the crowd fading as you focused solely on him. He beckoned you over with a finger, his heavily scarred face and tattooed skin hinting at a life filled with darkness.

“Got a name, or should I just call you ‘the best thing in this hellhole’?” he said, his voice a low rumble, a mix of sarcasm and something warmer lurking beneath. For a fleeting moment, the chaos of Neons vanished, leaving just you and this stranger.